* * * * *
Nine women out of ten would have refused, saying they knew nothing of music, or that they were out of practice, or that they never played except for their own amusement, or something of the kind; especially if they took no pride whatever in that accomplishment. But Edith went back to the piano at once, and went on trying over the song that she didn't know, without making any excuse for the faltering notes.
'That's charming,' he said. 'Thanks. Tosti, of course.'
She came back to the fireplace. 'Of course. We had great fun last night, didn't we?'
'Oh, I enjoyed myself immensely; part of the time at least.'
'But after dinner you were rather horrid, Mr Ross. You wouldn't come and talk to me, would you?'
'Wouldn't I? I was afraid. Tell me, do I seem many years older since last night?' he asked.
'I don't see any difference. Why?'
'Because I've lived months—almost years—since I saw you last. Time doesn't go by hours, does it?… What a charming little room this is. It suits you. There's hardly anything in it, but everything is right.'
'I don't like to have many things in a room,' said Edith, holding out her delicate hands to the fire. 'It makes me nervous. I have gradually accustomed Bruce to my idea by removing one thing at a time —photographs, pictures, horrid old wedding presents, all the little things people have. They suggest too many different trains of thought. They worry me. He's getting used to it now. He says, soon there'll be nothing left but a couple of chairs and a bookcase!'